


Warmth

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Enemies to Friends, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: No matter what Rus says, Edge’s scarf is not a blanket. Never was, never will be. And he will make his alternate fully aware of this fact.Or so he thinks.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Comments: 26
Kudos: 60





	Warmth

Stars, Edge can’t wait for the day that he and Red are able to move out of this awful house.

Most of the other aspects of living in this new world are tolerable enough. Getting rid of his real name? Bearable; back home, his brother was really the only one who used it — and even then, only in private. The lack of open violence? A bit off-putting at first, but once the idea sunk in, it was certainly a nice thing. And as far as getting to live on the _Surface_ , with sunshine and near-endless space and freedom? That is far from a hardship. Living with two sets of alternates in a house clearly not designed for that many owners, though? Fucking hell, that’s what it is.

 _Especially_ when it comes to having a chance alone in the only bathroom to get ready for work.

Without a proper mirror in his and Red's shared room — which is another disastrous hell in and of itself —Edge has no choice, really. Besides, unlike half of the denizens of the house, he actually has standards in hygiene which call for access to a shower. And soap. Lots of soap.

Smoothing over his neatly tucked in shirt, Edge grabs his scarf off from a hook, letting the faded scarlet wool weigh heavily in his hands. He may not be part of the Royal Guard any more — or even Underground, for that matter — but there’s something comforting about it. A sense of security in wearing it. The intent imbued into each tiny stitch isn’t as strong as it used to be — Red needs to take a night to fix that, and him Red’s collar — but it’s certainly better than nothing. At the very least, it’s a good armour boost; even as someone with a significant HP, one can never be too careful around humans and their virulent intent.

One moment, Edge is alone in the bathroom, carefully draping his scarf around his neck. The next, he has a honey and nicotine-scented shadow behind him, looming into his personal space as he picks at his teeth in the mirror.

Ugh. _Rus_.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he demands, trying to inch away from him.

Rus blinks slowly; apparently, he can bring his laziness into something as simple as basic bodily functions. “uh, trying to get rid of the popcorn kernels stuck between my teeth?” 

Does he not realise how he has invaded Edge’s personal space? With his luck, Rus is probably outright ignoring it, just to aggravate him. Thoroughly disgruntled, Edge almost elbows him in the ribs, stopping only at the last second. Right. Rus’ HP is positively abysmal. Even something like this could dust the ashtray if he doesn’t reign in his intent perfectly. Damn him.

“What I _mean_ ,” he snaps, clenching his fists, “is what the hell are you doing just barging in like this?! What if someone was busy conducting their business?”

Rus snorts. “sorry edgelord, but seriously? isn’t like any of us shits. plus,” he adds with a smirk, “i’m pretty sure i’ve got an idea of what you’ve got under your clothes, us being the same make and all, so…” 

Gloves creaking as his claws dig deeper to the palm, Edge growls. Rus unfortunately has a point, not that he will ever admit it; it’s the principle of the matter. Edge had come in here for peace and quiet and _privacy_ to get ready, none of which he is getting right now. 

And unfortunately, chances are rather abysmal that he will regain his privacy. Like it or not, Rus can be just as stubborn as him. Hell, maybe even more; his laziness can come as an amplifier in situations like these because he will simply refuse to get up and move. This is Edge’s life now, damn it all.

Refusing to give in to his annoyance, he gets back to adjusting his scarf. He tucks the one end through a loop, keeping things nice and secure. Then, Edge lets it fall gently over his shoulder. There. It’s perfect.

“having fun fussin’ with your socially acceptable blankie?”

Ugh, not this shit again. No matter what Rus says, Edge’s scarf is not a fucking blanket. End of story.

How this idea wiggled into his annoying ass alternate’s skull, Edge will never know. Just because his scarf is wider than some of the narrow things commonly worn by monsters and humans alike during the winter months, it doesn’t mean make his own any less of a scarf. And, even if he has vague recollections of huddling beneath the wide knitted rectangle as a babybones, that doesn’t change the fabric’s purpose; living on the streets is cold, hard, uncomfortable. Back then, Edge remembers his brother telling him to bundle up in anything that he can. By that logic, soggy newspapers would qualify as a blanket, as would Red's jacket.

More baffling than this is why Rus always harasses _him_ about it. As of the last time Edge checked, this universe’s Papyrus hasn’t gotten any rebukes about it. No, just Edge, joy of all ever-fucking-lasting joys. 

Grinding his teeth, Edge sucks in a sharp breath through his nasal aperture. He _won’t_ let his lazy, irritating excuse of an alternate get the better of him. He refuses. Even if he really, _really_ wants to. Teeth clenched, he slaps Rus’ hand away from where it was creeping up to his neck. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“nah.” He doesn’t even bother to elaborate, just stands there and smirks at him through the mirror. Bastard.

Bristling, Edge considers his options. Before he can go to work, he still needs to brush his teeth, add some eyeliner underneath his sockets to add an extra layer of intimidation to his glare. 

Rus needs to _leave_. The question, however, is how to make him.

The answer comes before Edge can really put any thought into it. Rus is halfway through yet another inflammatory comment when, burning red infiltrating his vision, Edge snaps, “Get the _fuck_ out of my face, ashtray, before Blue becomes an only child.”

As threats go, that one isn’t particularly strong. On his off days, Edge will put together much better ones; the only child threat shows up at least twice a week now that he has to share a house with Rus. But for whatever reason, it does the trick today. With one last chuckle, Rus shortcuts out of the bathroom, leaving him in peace at last.

Good riddance.

* * *

Less than forty-eight hours later, Edge finds himself wishing he could be back alone in that bathroom.

It’s errand day, which by itself — although not fantastic — should be more than bearable. ‘Should be’, of course, being the operating words here. Unfortunately for Edge, today’s errands require another person’s presence, especially since his car is in the shop.

And that means spending time with Rus. Lucky him.

Truly, the universe must be against him. There is no other explanation, in Edge’s opinion. Somehow, despite living in a house with five other skeletons, tall, lazy, infuriating Rus is the only one whose schedule matches up with his own. And, as much as they may annoy each other, working with him is sadly better than being alone.

Thankfully, they are almost done. All that is left is the brisk walk home, the strong autumn wind swirling leaves up from the curb. Bags in hand, Edge strides across the sidewalk, nodding politely to the other monsters he passes. It’s strange; after spending all of his life in Underfell, where monsters wouldn’t even dare make eye contact with him unless they were foolhardy enough to challenge him to a duel, this casual intimacy is honestly staggering. Strange, but a pleasant change. 

Nearing the end of the block, Edge frowns. The dragging shuffle of bright orange converse against pavement has slowed down, the sound becoming fainter behind him. Sighing, Edge stops, turning around to wait for Rus to catch up.

It takes longer than expected, not that Edge can complain. Rus’ lagging at this point seems to come from exhaustion more than anything; the kind of tiredness that seems to be common among those with low HP. The dark circles under Rus’ eyes are deeper than normal — and have been for at least a week. Worryingly so, especially now that Edge is watching more carefully. As it is, he had already expressed some concerns. When he had asked Red about it the other day, his brother had agreed but didn’t have any answers to a possible cause. Edge hasn’t had a chance to question Blue about it yet, although the little ball of sunshine can be uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his brother.

Finally, Rus catches up. His own collection of bags are barely an inch away from dragging on the ground. In his hands, they look heavy as can be. This, in Edge’s opinion, is just another worrying sign; he had made sure that Rus only got the lightest of bags. Up close, his fatigue is even more obvious, combined with a chill. Patched jeans and a thick hoodie covering a t-shirt must not be enough to keep him warm right now, even if the outfit is still cozier than Edge’s thin flannel and narrow slacks.

“whatcha looking at?” Rus asks, his question half-swallowed by a yawn and chattering teeth.

Edge doesn’t answer. 

Instead, he raises a hesitant hand to his collarbone, considering. Through his glove, he can still sense the intent to protect, the warmth that is more than just knitted wool. Then, with a sigh, he carefully unravels his scarf.

“edge?”

“Take this,” he says simply, wrapping the fabric snug around Rus’ neck until the top peeks over his chin. For good measure, Edge pulls his hood over his skull. There. That’s better. 

“thanks?” Rus says, an obvious note of confusion in his voice. He doesn’t fight it, though, starting to walk again. 

Keeping a careful eye on his alternate, Edge joins him, all the while justifying his decision. He just doesn’t want Rus to get sick. They share a living space, after all, and that doesn’t even go to mention the effect that will have with everyone else; any germs one of the low HP crowd gets infected with, the other two will also catch. He is simply making a practical choice. 

Nothing more.

Soon enough, they get back home. By this point, Rus is dead on his feet. If it weren’t for the fact that he has what Red now calls the ‘patented Papyrus glare of stubborn jackassery’ plastered all over his face, Edge would have scooped him up with everything else to give him a break. Hell, even with the ‘patented Papyrus glare of stubborn jackassery’, if they had had another block or two to go, Edge still would have done it. Now, all he can do is take Rus’ bags with the excuse of letting him unlock the door. 

“I’ll put everything away,” he says, giving Rus a firm look before he orders, “You go rest.”

Rus scoffs, but it’s perfunctory at best; he doesn’t even bother hiding the relieved slump of his shoulders or his small, blooming smile as he hands over his bags. “gee, i don’t know what i’d ever do without you.”

“Rest,” Edge repeats. He urges him into the house and goes to deal with everything else.

By the time he is ready to return to the living room to replace the batteries in the tv remote, several minutes have passed. Enough, in fact, that he is treated to a sight that makes him pause in the door frame.

Gangly limbs folded in a way that Edge would never call comfortable if it weren’t for the absolute serenity covering his heat-flushed face, Rus is curled up in an armchair. His head lolls to the side, resting haphazardly on his shoulder. A small snort escapes him, not quite a snore. Rus — to put it simply — is sleeping in the most adorably _him_ manner possible.

More notable than that, however, is the way he is wearing Edge’s scarf. Before falling asleep, Rus must have taken it off. Now, he has it stretched out over him, using it as a blanket. Something about it is almost unbearably cute. Watching him, Edge’s face feels… warm? Yes — a quick touch of his fingertips to his cheekbones serves as easy confirmation — very warm. Strange. Adding to the strangeness, his soul is fluttering in an uncharacteristic way. 

Unsure of where the urge comes from, Edge finds himself moving forward, towards the armchair. Each step he takes is beyond careful, not wanting to wake Rus up. Slowly, he picks up his scarf, trying to tuck him in more thoroughly. But as soon as he does, Rus blinks awake, smiling blearily at him.

“done unpacking already?” Edge nods, unsure of what to make of all of this. There is a bit of a delay as Rus processes. Then, his smile grows. “nice,” he says, already dozing back off. Still smiling.

Precious. That is the only word that can come close to describing Rus at the moment. Absolutely precious, and it makes Edge’s soul start fluttering again.

Making one last adjustment, Edge forces himself to step back. His resolve to leave almost breaks, however, when Rus makes a sleepy little trill, nuzzling into the scarf. And along with that, a different kind of resolve does shatter, not that he will ever tell Rus.

Maybe, just for him, Edge’s scarf can be a blanket.


End file.
